


To Love & Protect (and fail and repeat)

by angededesespoir



Series: Reaper76 Week [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Arguments, Canon-Typical Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Explosions, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, M/M, Manipulation by the U.N., Minor Injuries, Multi, Pnigophobia, Serious Injuries, blood mention, major character death (death in quotations marks...kinda), pyrophobia mention kinda, some vague sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9829871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angededesespoir/pseuds/angededesespoir
Summary: 6 times they tried to have the other's back.





	

**Author's Note:**

> _This was meant as a very belated thing for Reaper76 Week. It fits both Day 3- “At Your Back”- Trust/Betrayal & Day 1- “How We Were”- History/Decay. ._
> 
> _.....I would just like you all to know that I nearly started crying at several points while writing this. Why I like to torture myself so, I do not know. Anyway, buckle up & enjoy, friends._
> 
> _(Can also be read on[Tumblr](http://angededesespoir.tumblr.com/post/157458479020/an-this-was-meant-as-a-very-belated-thing-for).)_

Jack’s hot.   _Too hot._

Gabe knows he should pull away, but he’s too God damn cold.  And even if he did, he knows Morrison would protest, and he doesn’t have the heart to deny him when he’s in this state.

So there they are, two shaking forms.  Jack’s flesh burning, warming Gabe, but it’s still not enough.  He pulls the blanket ( _too thin_ ) tighter around himself, trying to keep it off his partner’s skin.  His teeth chatter involuntarily, and he tries to grit them to regain control. 

“G-Gabe.”  

If he weren’t so close, he’s sure he wouldn’t have heard the voice.  It’s too soft, too weak right now.  


“Y-yeah?”  His own is shaky- to his own ears, at least.  


“Y-you doing o-okay?”  


He forces a smile, presses a ghost of a kiss to the man’s temple.  “You worry t-too much, ca-cariño.  You’re in w-worse shape than I’m in.”

“I-I’m fine.”  It doesn’t convince either of them.  


He starts moving, peeling away from him.  Jack shudders and grabs weakly at his arm.

“P-please don’t g-go.”

Gabe pauses, reaches up to affectionately stroke the hand, his own nearly as shaky, but more firm.

“Nothing’s g-going to make me l-leave you.  I’m r-right here.  J-just need to grab a f-few things.”  


There’s a sound somewhere between a whine and a groan, but the hand falls away, drops limply to the bed.

It feels like a century before he’s making his way back.  ( _God, how he misses the warmth._ )  The rags in his hand are cold.  Too cold.

He lays them against Jack’s skin in various places, watching as the man tenses.

“’s c-cold.”  


It pains him, but he knows it’s for the best.

He grabs the glass of water from the side table.

“L-lift your head, Ja-Jackie.”  


He’s weak, but he manages, and Gabe braces his neck as he presses the glass to the man’s lips.

When Jack’s finished, Gabe sets the glass back down, settles beside him, pulls him close, again.  

“We’re go-going to be o-okay.”

-2-

The last rounds of cannon and gunfire ring out, then there are cheers.

And like that, after years of fighting, the war has finally come to an end.  There’s still no time for celebration.  Not yet.  

There are wounded to tend do, cities to rebuild, dead that need to buried, letters that need to be sent home.

For now, Jack presses a kiss to his husband’s cheek, exhaustion and relief flooding him.  “We did it.  It’s over.  It’s finally over.”

There’s sweat and blood dripping down Gabe’s face and despite everything, he’s smiling, too, kissing him in return, on the lips this time.

“It’s been a pleasure fighting by your side, Cariño.” 

“You, too, Gabe.  You’re the best partner I could’ve asked for.”

They hold onto eachother, kissing, for once somewhat relaxed.  And to think- there’d be more moments like this to come.

They reluctantly pull away.

“We should head back to base now.”

Gabe nods in agreement.  “Mind helping me, mi amor?”

Jack smiles and pulls the arm over his shoulder.  “Lean on me.  I’ve got you, mi sol.”  

-3- 

Gabe can feel the dread rising before Morrison has a chance to open his mouth.  

He’s being pushed into the empty office, the door clicking shut and locking behind them.  He can feel the nervousness pouring off of him, filling the room with negative energy.  There’s deafening silence.  Only the hum of electricity to fill the emptiness.

He shifts, opens his mouth to speak, when Jack finally blurts out the words.

“They want to make me Strike-Commander.”  


He shuts his mouth, not quite sure he’s heard correctly.  “...What?”  


“I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  I tried to tell them, tried to convince them that it should be you.  It should be obvious.  I don’t understand.”

He’s still staring, stunned.

“I’m sorry, but, Gabe, they...,” he pauses, hesitating, then settles on shaking his head.  “Nevermind.  I’m sorry. It’s my fault.  I’m sorry. I should have tried harder.   I don’t know what to do.”    


He drops his head to Reyes’ shoulder, tears stinging his eyes, and the man, out of habit, pulls him closer.  

Gabriel tries to process, tries to push down his anger, bite his tongue long enough to come up with what to say.  He doesn’t want to lash out at Jack.  It would solve nothing, and deep down he knows that it isn’t the other man’s fault.  The suits have their reasons.  He’s sure he knows at least a few of them. 

And, though he’s not surprised, it still upsets him.  He’s _earned_ this promotion, risked and sacrificed so much for it. 

And _this_ is how he’s repaid.  


He strokes Jack’s back, hopes it comes off as comforting as usual.

At the very least, he can’t complain on who they chose in his place.  

He kisses Jack’s temple, pushes himself to say the words.  “It’s not your fault, Jackie.  It’s okay.  You’re going to take the position.”

Morrison’s head jerks up, so fast he doesn’t have time to react.  He rubs at his jaw and hushes Jack’s worried apology, pushing away the hand that reaches up.

“Gabe, I- I don’t understand. I thought-”  


“Shhh.  You’re going to take the position, and you’re going to do great.  And if you ever need help, mi amor,” he pressed his lips to the blond’s forehead, “I’ll be there for you.”  


He can still see the anxiety etched on his husband’s face when he pulls away.  

It takes awhile, but then Jack is nodding.  “Okay.  Okay, I’ll do it.”  

He hugs Gabe, again.  “Thank you, mi sol.”

“De nada, mi luna.”  


~

When they make love that night, Gabe feels numb, detached.  He tries his best to ignore the way Jack continues to murmur apologies against his skin every now and then, tries to ignore how he’s heavier with his praise, more insistent with his worship.  He goes through practiced motions, moaning at just the right times, and he hopes Jack doesn’t notice that he’s not as into it as usual.

They both lie awake that night, pretending to sleep.  

Gabe reflects on his path, how far he’s come, how close he was.

Jack presses against him, closing his eyes, trying not to say what’s been torturing him all day.

Because, really, his husband doesn’t need to know how _they_ had manipulated him into that position.  He doesn’t need to know the threats that have him wide awake, clinging to Gabe, just in case, just in case.....

His husband has enough to worry about.

-4-

It’s routine at this point.  Sometimes he doesn’t even know what they’re fighting about.

But here they are, in the dead of the night, in the middle of his office, neither one listening.

“I’m concerned.  You’ve been disappearing on missions that I haven’t sanc-”  


“Blackwatch is mine, Morrison.  I can run it how I see fit.  I don’t need you holding my hand for everything.”  


“Even still, there’s things you have been hiding from me, and-”  


“And you’re not hiding things from me?”  


“Gabe, please, we’ve talked about this.  You know-”  


“You’ve let them make you into a puppet, Jack.”  


He half flinches when the man steps forward, reaches toward his face.  When the calloused hand softly cups his cheek, when his brain registers that there’s no threat, he feels the urge to lean into the touch, like he used to.

He resists.

“Gabe.....”  


“You promised me, mi luna.  What happened?”  


Jack averts his eyes, gently, but firmly, covering Gabe’s hand with his own.

“I can’t talk about these things.  You know that.”  


He feels the hand slipping out from under his own, and he wants to beat himself up, wants to pour out all he’s been hiding.  

“Fine.  Then remember there’s things I can’t talk about, either.”  


“Gabriel.....”  


The door shuts, a little too hard.  And Jack is alone, again.

-5-

Everything is a blur.  His head aches and it takes him awhile to work through the disorientation enough to start piecing together where he is, what’s going on.  

The air is thick.  Something crackling from a distance meets his ears, something crumbling follows, the earth trembling beneath him, something shifts.

He blinks, starts to register that there’s liquid streaming down his face.  Confused, he tries to move to touch it.  Pain shoots through him, sharp, and his body seizes.  

It’s awhile before he’s able to relax his muscles enough to try again.  He uses more caution, his movements still lacking coordination, still taxing.

He blinks, looking at the blur of his fingers, now died red.   _Blood_.

He tries to look around, winces as he takes in more information.  Rocks are jabbing into him.  The air.....the air smells of smoke, and-

his blood runs cold, bits and pieces coming together.   _Switzerland.  Fighting.  Explosion.  Gabe._

_**Gabe.** _

He pushes past the pain, trying not to cry out, trying to make it to his feet.

He stumbles, collapses, the world spinning.  

He swallows, tries to remember how to breathe.

When he can, he moves, opting to crawl.  Any movement is better than none.

_He has to be nearby.  He has to be._

He moves unsteadily, vision still blurry, dizziness getting to him.

It might have been minutes or hours, he’s not sure- but he finds him, half buried under rubble.

“No. Please, no. Gabe!”    


He scrambles towards him, debris cutting into his hands and legs.  He tries to uncover him, arms weak, shaking under the strain.  He pulls, but nothing budges.  Eventually he slumps against the wreckage, breathing heavily. 

The panic continues to rise, threatening to consume him.  He tries to think, tries to calm down.

He latches onto the wrist, blood-soaked & barely accessible, searches for the pulse.

He freezes.

He can’t feel anything.

“No, no, no, no...,” he frantically checks.  “Gabe, please, please.  Hang on.  I’m sure Angela’s coming.  Hang on, please.”  


He’s still trying for a pulse minutes later, still clawing uselessly at debris, still repeating words and phrases until his voice is hoarse, as if the actions could reverse time, could bring him back, could reject this cruel reality.

He screams the name over and over like an apology, devolving into sobs which take him to a land of darkness.

He hopes he will either wake from this nightmare, or not wake at all.

-6-  

It’s not the first time they’ve met on the battlefield, but Jack has to admit, Reaper’s actions confuse him, especially now.

Anyone else would be taking advantage of his weakened state.  Anyone else would be pumping him full of more lead.

But here the man is- crouching down, pressing firmly against his wound.

“Do you have any canisters left?”  


He winces against the touch, shifting uncomfortably.

“What does it matter to you?   I’d thought you would’ve killed me by now.  Getting soft?”

“Jack.....”  the form slips down onto his knees, gets closer.  “Why can’t you ever answer?  After all these years, you’re still so reluctant to answer even a simple question.”  


The talons dig into his skin and he hisses.

“Answer me.  Do you have any canisters left?”  


He swallows.  “No.”

He’s surprised when the Reaper’s other hand clutches around his jaw firmly. “You’re not allowed to die on me.  Do you understand?  Not yet.  First you need to pay for what you’ve done, and for that, you need to survive.”  


Reaper lets go, and then he begins tearing at the latches of Jack’s mask.  Before he can protest, he feels the talons again, then a whispered, “Don’t.”

So, he let’s him, feeling more and more uneasy, vulnerable, as the visor is pealed away and his vision blurs.  

“Open up.” 

He’s confused. 

The clawed hand reaches out to his face, again, squeezes.  “I said, ‘Open up.’” 

He’s still not sure what’s going on, but he obeys.

He hears Reaper shift, then a pair of lips are against his. The skin making contact with his face feels disfigured.  His first instinct is to reach out, touch it, try to form an image.

Before he can, something is flooding his mouth and he finds himself choking, gasping, trying to push him away.  But Reaper holds him firmer.  

By the time he pulls away, shifts his mask back on, Jack realizes that his side isn’t hurting as much.  Rather, it just feels...strange.

He tries to catch his breath, feeling the area where there was once a wound.

“Gabe, what did-”  


There’s a finger to his lips, and then the familiar sensation of the mask and visor being pressed on and secured to his head.

“It doesn’t matter.  Physically you’ll be fine.”  


He watches the man rise, body beginning to lose form.  Jack shivers from the cold the smoke emits.

“But I’ll haunt you ‘til the day you die, Jack.  There’s nothing you can do to make me stop.”

“Gabe-”  


But the Reaper is already gone, leaving the soldier sitting in his own blood, still holding his side in confusion and disbelief.


End file.
